To behold the towering mountains is to know one's own smallness. To level them is proof of one’ own might.

  - Unknown.

  The heat clung to Al-Lazar like a second skin, oppressive and unyielding, even though the sun had drowned stained in red beneath the horizon an hour past. The night offered no relief; the air was thick, heavy with the stench of sweat, dust, and the faint coppery tang of blood. I felt little of it—hardship had long since become a distant whisper to me, my ridiculously high Constitution and Endure skill shielding me from most of the ill effects. But the men around me, weaker and lesser, suffered. Their breaths labored beneath layers of steel, padded cloth, and boiled leather that made their armor hot and heavy.

  The evening was yet young, yet already our weapons had tasted blood in skirmishes against the Great Houses of Al-Lazar that stood against us. House Rahim, Dar, and Levin had thrown their lot in with the Alim dogs. Their troops, those who could not escape my wrath, had been reduced to numbers on my experience bar.

  The narrow streets echoed with the distant clash of steel and the muffled screams of the dying. The citizens had bolted their doors and doused their lights, praying to gods who no longer listened. The unlucky, the foolhardy, or those too poor to find shelter had been caught in the crossfire, their bodies strewn like discarded rags in the gutters. A child's cry pierced the darkness—a fleeting sound swallowed quickly by yet more chaos. Another innocent claimed by a war they had no part in. Wasted experience that should have been mine.

  The Great Houses were tearing the City of Dust apart, brick by brick, life by life. And we were their instruments, bound by oaths and debts, fighting battles on behalf the rich and the powerful. The streets of Al-Lazar would run red before the night was through, and the heat was the least of their burdens.

  The Contest of Knives was not a thing that we could afford to lose, though we were not trying to win in the least. Although Salahaem, the once preeminent Great House of Al-Lazar, commanded fearsome resources, they could not afford to go against four other Great Houses in the long term.

  However, Salahaem was fighting for their existence and was desperate. This lent strength to their arms and gave the men around me a solid core of morale bolstered by my very presence.

  Always, I had been the first to smash against the enemy ranks, crashing through their shield walls, Bellringer reaping a heavy toll in broken and dead bodies. They had witnessed me turn whole units of men into burning conflagrations as I screamed the name of the Goddess, calling judgment down upon them. These living torches were responsible for the grey smoke that rose in pall half a mile behind us as their flaming bodies set alight less well-constructed buildings. All of it adding to the confusion of this war by another name.

  With Greater Drain empowering me, I unleashed the raw power of the Hunger from Beyond, reducing them to dried husks even as it filled me with raw, heady stuff of life. Against such low-level creatures, and with my flanks protected by the men that accompanied me, I was all but invincible as they simply could not inflict enough damage upon me.

  With me as the hammer, the men were exhausted, but their morale was high. Those with me knew their duties to protect my flanks as I stormed ahead, the tip of the spear.

  Elwin and Larynda were out there somewhere, fighting alongside the Salahaem and troops from the Mercenary Guild. Knowing the old Rogue, I am sure that he would find a way to benefit from this chaos, pilfering a few trinkets here and there. In this regard, the Mercenaries in their dark charcoal black armor were particularly rapacious.

  Enkidu, I had persuaded to guard Aelayah in my stead. I did not want him to get injured before his match with the Adventurer’s Guild’s representative. Though he was reluctant, he was eventually able to see the Wisdom in my words.

  As for Larynda, she was needed to provide magical support to a different unit. Against my better judgment, I allowed it. This way I would be able to get more experience without the little girl stealing some of my kills.

  The laws of engagement, as always, were very loose when it came to real conflict. Civilian and neutral buildings, in or near the other side’s territory, had a few ‘accidents’ or required inspection.

  Just scant minutes, a group of Mercenaries had been having a rather intense discourse with the female shopkeep in a building next to the one we had been resting in. Under any other condition, I would have voiced my protest, but I found myself simply not being able to raise the will to bother. Nobody else did it, so why should I? After all, they were not my men.

  Still, a spike of guilt remained. I should at least make a token effort. They were, after all, supposed to be professionals.

  “Damien, should that sort of behavior be allowed?” I asked of the beautiful man as he finished a headcount, the sounds of her screaming for them to stop whatever they were doing adding a certain spice to the night.

  “The men are just blowing off a bit of steam, gone now almost three months without seeing any decent action. Don’t worry there won’t be any intentional civilian deaths as per our contract. I am sure the woman was also an informer for the House Dar, Canis and his Scale are just being… a little more thorough than usual. I wouldn’t worry about it overly much, no need to complicate things,” he answered with a shrug and a weak smile.

  I found myself being convinced. True, there was no need to complicate things, and it was the easier option.

  Unfortunately, there were times when things did get complicated. Marching off to another part of the quarter to attack another patrol that had been sighted by our rooftop scouts, we were instead intercepted by a small group of people.

  An adventuring party of four stood before me. Judging by the badges on their breasts, they were of relatively high rank: their leader wore Gold, and the other three displayed Silver badges. Smirking, I noticed they carried no steel or iron weapons or armor. Our enemies were learning.

  Even though they were not truly mine to command, I considered the men around me, my men—they were my responsibility. That is what happens when men fight together against a common enemy: respect is earned and given. In my case, it was the sort of respect one might give to particularly loyal pets that could perform tricks.

  I knew in my bones that the men would just get in the way if things came to blows.

  I raised my visor and gave Damien a brief smile. “It is time for me to earn my keep. Have the men fall back and fire upon them once I engage them. Do not worry about hitting me, my armor will protect me.”

  He nodded to me, a calculating look in his eye, before saluting me. The men fell back, leaving me to face the adventuring party alone.

  The leader of the adventurers, a man of Gold rank, gave me a confident smile. He was just above average height and build, slightly past his thirties, with a thin, scraggly beard that seemed almost like an afterthought. Despite his smile, he had a somber disposition, his expression fixed in a seemingly perpetual frown. His armor consisted of padded silk and linen beneath circular bronze scales marked with runic inscriptions. In one hand, he gripped a curved longsword ending in a narrow tip without a guard; in the other, a swordbreaker dagger with saw-like teeth.

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  His companions were armored similarly and seemed cut from the same bolt of cloth, though they carried more varied weapons. They could have been brothers for all I knew, but it did not matter—for they would be dead soon. More numbers on my character sheet. I quickly noted their equipment: one wielded a massive longbow that Enkidu would have envied, another a hammer and shield, and the last a slender greatsword with a flame-like blade.

  “I am still an adventurer, like all of you, until judgment is passed,” I stated, unslinging my hammer. “Must we come to blows?”

  A bow wielder knocked an arrow as their leader responded in a warm voice dripping with false lies. “Weakling words. Do you think a mere Copper like you can claim so? That such a statement would stay our hand? You are a coward and a disgrace to the Guild,” he sneered in dulcet tones.

  Even as he was talking, I was preparing to unleash magical carnage. I whispered in my mind the syllables of the cold winter even as the voices chanted the dark chords of raw Entropy.

  "No, but it was worth a try to see if a Charisma check would work. Soon enough, you'll be nothing more than cold corpses and experience points," I said with a shrug. "As for being a coward, it is rich hearing that from a Gold ranker who needs three others to assist him. Did you earn that badge, or did you buy it at the market? I have heard you can buy anything in Al-Lazar."

  "What nonsense are you speaking of?" His eyes narrowed, anger mingling with confusion. He was angry, but not so much that it clouded his judgment. "You're a brave one to utter such, I'll give you that—cocksure. We've accepted the quest to deal with you, and together we'll treat you as the monster and coward that you are."

  "You are, of course, welcome to try, but a minor boss character like you could not possibly hope to understand. I would offer you a duel, but I am sure you would be too cowardly to accept. What do they call it... projection? You and this gimmick of a party will be nothing more than a minor hurdle," I replied with a smile, slamming down my visor. As my world narrowed, Improved Entropic Aura spread from me, soon laced with the debilitating Freezing Aura.

  Almost in unison, the adventuring party hissed at me as the magic touched them, beaded jewelry at their necks glowing a dull red..

  With an unspoken order, the adventurers spread out in a fluid motion, clearly well-rehearsed. The bowman loosed his arrow and I felt the whistle, no, the scream, of the shaft cutting through the air toward me. In less than a heartbeat, my Mimic responded. A spiked tower shield formed at my forearm, a solid bulwark made from organic threads that changed into wood and steel. The arrow hit my shield with more force than expected, ricocheting off its surface with a sharp clang and skittering across the stone of the streets. The archer cursed under his breath and began to draw another.

  I let out a low growl and charged forward, heavy plate armor clanking as I advanced. The leader was quick, meeting me with a lunge, his curved sword aiming for what little gaps there were in my armor.

  In times gone by, I had once thought it would be an easy thing to defeat a man in armor. After all, all you had to do was attack the weak points. However, in turn, a man in full armor knew well enough to protect those points, and I easily defended against a thrust aimed at my visor.

  My reply was a swing of my own weapon, a testing blow not fully committed.

  Wielding my warhammer in one hand should have made it a clumsy and impractical thing. However, with my enhanced Strength and Dexterity, it moved swiftly enough even one-handed. Against all expectations, he deflected the strike with his swordbreaker and tried to twist his wrist to trap the spike at the head of my hammer between the jagged teeth.

  His companions moved in, trying to flank me. The one with the greatsword aimed a wide horizontal slash at my back, and I shifted slightly. Reacting faster than I could, my Mimic shield blocked the blow with a hollow thud. My weapon still caught by his, the leader and I locked eyes for a moment, both of us testing the Strength of the other.

  Unfortunately, his Strength was lacking and I ripped his defensive weapon out of his hands with an upwards Power Strike, sending it clanging off somewhere down the street. He snarled at me in disbelief and anger.

  The Mimic blocked the swordsman's follow-up blow, its tower shield form blocking a strike that would have cleaved a normal man from neck to navel. I felt the impact all along my arm despite my great Strength. In a vicious reaction, I activated my Improved Shield Bash, catching the swordsman in the chest and sending him staggering back.

  Suddenly, a volley of crossbow bolts rained down from behind me. The Mercenaries Guild had finally opened fire. The adventurers scattered, each trying to find cover. Impressively, the leader stood his ground, cutting out bolts from the air with his blade.

  I felt the bolts glancing off my armor harmlessly, but the same could not be said for them. One of the adventurers, the man with the hammer and shield, cried out in a womanly fashion as a bolt bit through the padding of his leg. He collapsed to one knee, gripping his shield tighter.

  Seeing an opening, I dashed toward the wounded Silver-ranked adventurer, my Improved Dash Skill propelling me forward. I delivered a blow that came down like judgment from the heavens. He attempted to raise his shield, but he was far too slow. A maximum-level Improved Power Strike slammed into his bronze helm with a resounding impact. A brief flare of light met my strike, offering some resistance and dampening its force. But it simply was not enough and my weapon crushed his skull.

  Such banal words they had become, the death of a human. I dismissed them, for they held no answers for me. They were only markers of an end.

  The archer gave out a great cry. Thinking to distract me, he knocked another arrow and loosed it at my helm. It skittered across the top part in a flash of sparks but did little harm to my Health.

  They were losing ground, but they were not quite done yet. The leader barked orders, trying to rally them. They would provide more entertainment yet. His sword flashed toward my chest, but I parried it with the haft of my hammer, the impact ringing out like a bell.

  I could see in his eyes that the desperation was creeping in. My Freezing Aura was taking hold, frost forming on their weapons, their movements slowing, breaths coming in misty clouds. He continued to attack me, but his strikes were getting sloppier, and heavier, and I could feel the drain of Entropy sapping at his strength. But for all of his passion, my Asura Gauge was barely up over ten percent.

  The swordsman, having recovered from my Improved Shield Bash, came at me again with a flurry of strikes. I had no choice but to focus on defense, using my Mimic to block each blow. His greatsword clashed against the tower shield, sending reverberations up my arm with each impact. The leader, feeling the tide turning, added his attacks to the mix, and I was suddenly on the back foot. I was forced to use my hammer defensively, and more than once, I caught a few blows to my armored hands and forearm that did some chip damage to my Health.

  Throughout all of this, the Mercenaries kept on firing, their bolts loosed sporadically now instead of like an initial volley. Still, it was enough support to force the swordsman back. The archer, in response, let loose in return, downing one of the black armored men.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw another bolt whizz by, narrowly missing the archer. However, a second found scored across the archer’s breastplate and once again I saw a small flash as her armor reacted. Cursing, she nocked another arrow but was forced to dance back as bolts flew in her direction.

  “You can surrender,” I said coldly, my voice muffled behind my heavy visor. “You have lost.”

  “By the Gold at my breast, never!” the leader spat, charging me once more. He swung wide, and I ducked beneath the blow, casually slamming the butt of my warhammer into his side, empowering it with Entropic Strike. Again there was resistance, but my dolorous pierced this feeble defense. I heard the sickening crunch of ribs breaking, felt the flow of dark energy from my weapon into him and something in my tool of death rejoice. The leader of the adventuring party stumbled, gasping for breath as black lines spread Entropy spread from the point of impact.

  I straightened, towering over him as he clutched his side. "Then die on your feet," I growled, raising my hammer for the final blow.

  As my hammer descended to deliver its final message, a bolt from a random mercenary found, by lucky chance or fell purpose, his throat first.

  I howled into the evening, my battle lust screaming in frustration. It should have been more! This world, as always, sought to try me!